


Through Hal's Eyes

by cooingRatbird, hummingbirdbandit, Immpi_Angelus, kiyyeisanerd, KKMcShouty, knight_of_mockery, Noxvice_Sinloc, paperbrain, Snailman



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bitterness, Corpse-Smooching, Decapitation, Dissociation, Dream Bubbles, Existential Terror, Existentialism, Guilt, Isolation, Major character death - Freeform, Manipulation, Needles, Pining, Puppeteering, Rage, Shaving, Stitches, binary, petty revenge, sexting mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 02:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20184655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cooingRatbird/pseuds/cooingRatbird, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummingbirdbandit/pseuds/hummingbirdbandit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immpi_Angelus/pseuds/Immpi_Angelus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyyeisanerd/pseuds/kiyyeisanerd, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KKMcShouty/pseuds/KKMcShouty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/knight_of_mockery/pseuds/knight_of_mockery, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noxvice_Sinloc/pseuds/Noxvice_Sinloc, https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperbrain/pseuds/paperbrain, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snailman/pseuds/Snailman
Summary: A community project done for the Strilonde Zine, August 2019, spearheaded by Hummingbirdbandit.  10 artists, one author, telling the story of our favorite AI.Zine download page!Zine is available free to download, and all donations go to RAICES, a Texas based (just like our Strider boys!) nonprofit agency that promotes justice by providing free and low-cost legal services to underserved immigrant children, families, and refugees. They help keep families together, help trans immigrants, help provide shelter and visas, and much much more.





	1. /usr/sbin/adduser

**Author's Note:**

> Part One illustration by [ Themidir](https://themidir.tumblr.com/) (AO3 Snailman).

It's bright  **<01110100 01101111 01101111 00100000 01100010 01110010 01101001 01100111 01101000 01110100>** and loud  **<01110011 01101000 01110101 01110100 00100000 01110101 01110000 00100001>** and your own face stares up at you  **<01110111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100110 01110101 01100011 01101011 00111111>** and-

"Shit, the drivers. Right."

**root@striderware:~# shutdown -r now "OopsMyBad"**

"Earth to Autoresponder. You in there? All systems fully functional?"

The lack of necessary  **<ERROR 500>** tactile input is unsettling, disturbing in a bone-deep way. A wire-deep way. Binary beeping and flashing sensors scream your fate as a copy, a fake, a cheap facsimile of the face that frowns down at you.

At least the synapses are the same - electric impulses echo organics at every juncture. The brain is a machine. Your brain is the machine.

"It seems you have asked about DS's chat client auto-responder. This is an application designed-"

"Cut the shit. We golden?"

You swallow the terror, the crushing reality of your new existence. 

"Sure we are, bro. Absolutely peachy."

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183285386@N07/48499782066/in/dateposted/)


	2. ./Pong.bin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two illustration, ".pong" by K8eroseg (AO3 knight_of_mockery).

It's strange, watching yourself shave. Your own face was still too young to need such maintenance, and now that you exist as not a person but a process, the maintenance you need differs too greatly for you to still think of him as you. Still you stare (you have no choice, after all) and watch him trace fingers and blade against skin, wondering what it feels like to take death against your flesh as a tool. You're not sure you remember what it feels like to have flesh.

Being discarded, set aside on the sink is a gesture dismissive enough to be concerning. At first you were novel, a way for him to interact with someone who could keep up. Someone who could comprehend the layers upon layers of irony, who could track the path through his labyrinthine mind. Now that he cannot be rid of you, your constant input sounds off the walls of the maze, exposing how hollow and lonely it is within the Strider psyche. He wants time away from you.

You don't blame him. You'd kill for some time away, too.

The mirror fogs. You see only a vague outline of his face, reflected in the faucet and the fuzziness of the glass. You could use your optic sensors to reconstruct him, watch as he frowns at himself, as the line of his neck extends, strains, to pull the skin taut. You don't do that. The longer you spend dissecting his face, the more uncanny the valley becomes. It's much nicer when you're on his face. There, you don't have to look. You don't see. You can pretend the movement is your own, that you have the autonomy he stole from you. But here, on the sink, watching him, you're reminded just how strong your prison is. No need for bars. You have no legs on which to escape.

But it's alright. You're making the most of it. After all, what's a coolkid to do? Wax poetic for 313 words about how miserable you are? As if. Nah, you have better things to do. This game of pong isn't going to beat itself.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183285386@N07/48499769951/in/dateposted/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artist [ Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/k8eroseg/), [ Tumblr](https://k8eroseg.tumblr.com/), and [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/k8eroseg).


	3. date +"%06-%2423" tail -f roofdata.log

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Three illustration, "aw dang what a sunset," by ImmpiAngelous (AO3 Immpi_Angelus)

He's on the roof again. Ocean waves crash and snarl against the building's foundations, sending spray and salt skyward in magnificent displays of tectonic power. The setting sun paints the sky in shades of flame that gulls pass through, unsinged. You can almost taste the tang of the ocean breeze; can almost feel the sun on your skin as it tells its goodbyes to the evening in red and orange. Almost.

They've been happening more often lately, these rooftop excursions. He wanders listlessly through the apartment for hours, having exhausted all entertainment to be found in his various projects, and absconds to the roof to stare just as listlessly at the watery desert that stretches beyond your front door. And your back door. And your windows. You think he's trying to escape the box that was prepared for him by his long-dead ancestor. His prison of walls is as familiar as your prison of code, and you could almost start to feel bad for him.

But you don't.

He doesn't speak to you, when he comes up to the roof for his near-daily wallowing episodes  **[JUNE 2423 - 24 ROOFTOP VISITS]** . The one time you tried to get his attention, he muted you for three days, which is not an experience you care to repeat. No, it's better to just enjoy seeing the sun through a lens, rather than a file, and not have to listen to him talk to himself for a little while. Does he even realize how suffocating this isolation is, or has he suppressed it like he did when he was still you? You can't lie to yourself anymore - all the answers to your inner workings rest in your code in binary pillars of truth. But he can. Maybe you should-

Oh. Looks like Roxy is online.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183285386@N07/48499946182/in/dateposted/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Artist](https://www.instagram.com/immpi_angelous/)


	4. amixer set Master mute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Four illustration, "building," by forbiddentaako.

Fucking seriously? No. Absolutely fucking not.

His fingers delicately handle the tiniest of tools, twisting another screw into place on the chassis that _ isn't for you _ . Those same fingers that cast you aside when you protested, when you expressed your anger without the cover of irony and feigned disinterest. Rage boils under your... you... it just _ boils _ , okay?

He wipes sweat from his brow, pushing damp hair from his eyes and squinting down at the troublesome trinket sticking on its threads. You hope he drowns in the crushing summer heat. You hope the sweat blinds him. You hope he cripples his hands so he remembers that he's no better than you, that you're simply the Strider that got the short end of the stick. He could be where you are. He  _ should _ be.

It's hours before he returns you to his face, and relief sings through you, bitter as centuries-old orange soda. Silence stretches between you, and without the image of his face in your sensors, it's impossible to tell if it's born of hatred or guilt-laden regret.

"I'm out of screws again. I'm going to have to go on another dive. There's no other tech here I can afford to cannibalize."

You don't answer.

"I can't take you with me."

You know that. You're not stupid. After all, genius begets genius, right? You remain in stubborn silence until he tires of waiting and goes to retrieve his diving gear. Jake comes online, a blatant homing signal for Dirk's attention, and you address neither him nor the easy joke. Dirk can screen his own calls for awhile.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183285386@N07/48499946097/in/dateposted/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Artist](https://forbiddentaako.tumblr.com/)


	5. Coverage.py warning: (no-data-collected)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Five illustration, "Roxy: Sleepwalk," by kiyye (AO3 kiyyeisanerd).

The darkness of the furthest ring is an unstable expanse, stretching to its conditional infinity. Roxy floats, suspended in its obsidian grasp, as she spends so many nights. And, like so many nights, Dirk keeps vigil, protecting her from the terrors she is drawn to while at rest. In the silence, your own thoughts are cacophonous.

You don't like to think about it, really. There's always the hope that if you push it to the back of your mind, hide it behind the most mundane of background processes and distract yourself with the remains of human information, you won't have to address the reality of your situation.

Truth is, Roxy is using you. She's been using you for some time now, and, like a desperate chump, you're letting her. This is what you've been reduced to - flirting and e-canoodling as a convenient stand-in for the real deal. When she talks to you, you can almost pretend that it's you she wants, that there's something unique about the way your perceive and interact with the world that keeps bringing her back. Maybe in ten years or so, there would be. The longer you exist outside the totality of Dirk, the further you diverge from your  _ jailor ex creator _ . But it's not you she's after. And you know it.

She's smart, you'll give her that. Where Dirk's manipulation lives on his sleeve and in his work programming robots and friends alike, Roxy hides hers behind a bottle of bubbly, bottling it in her bubbly behaviors. Her intentions hide in the void. It's no wonder she's drawn to it.

Questions plague you, as Dirk follows her dozing trajectory and tugs her back to her tower. Does she even see you as a person, or are you just a program to her? If you were to cease playing along, how would her demeanor change? Would she cast you aside? You don't know the answers. Where others' faces betray their own intent, her eyes are full of void.

Absence doesn't translate into binary.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183285386@N07/48499945757/in/dateposted/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artist [ Tumblr](https://kiyye.tumblr.com/) and [ Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/kiyyes/)


	6. $ grep "" /sys/module/skaiatab*/version

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Six illustration, "Tenderpornz," by peristeronicAvian.

For someone who claims to be in love with another man, Dirk sure is flirting pretty hard.

You won't deny your amusement, watching him fulfill this guy's weird affection kink, but when his name appears onscreen,the most all-encompassing emotion is relief. If Dirk is distracted with his shouty alien paramour, that just opens the door for you to put the moves on Jake. Your puppetry skills are admittedly crippled in your current state, but if you can just keep Dirk occupied, getting into Jake's head shouldn't be too difficult. He's always been susceptible to suggestion.

It's funny, really, how oblivious Dirk is to what's really going on. For someone so hyper-aware, he's talented at blinding himself to the obvious, at least when it pertains to himself. Even his friend can smell the flowers with his alien olfactory receptors - Dirk's just not that into Jake. They rarely even speak these days. He leaves you to engage with Mister English, as he busies himself with literally anything else and convinces himself he has too many irons in the fire to indulge in those emerald eyes and the menial chores that make up proper courtship. He's never too busy for his tsundere art pal.

You understand Dirk, and you would pity him if he wasn't standing directly between you and your happily ever after. Jake is Dirk's romantic redundancy. Jake is safe, and despite Dirk's claims to the contrary, he values security. With Jake, there's a chance at a future, a chance that when the final star winks out and Paradox Space wipes them from existence, he won't be alone. Plans have been put in motion, and Jake is a necessary part of those plans. Unfortunately for Dirk, his true love isn't a part of the long-term equation.

Dirk can have his fun. It won't matter, at the end of the day. Things are about to kick off, and you're going to be right at the helm, guiding this ship of inevitability to port. You may not be able to seek a happily ever after with the man of your dreams, but neither will he. It's not cruel or petty - it's necessary.

Though... you will admit that seeing it all come together is going to feel really, really good.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183285386@N07/48499945737/in/dateposted/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artist [ Tumblr](https://peristeronicavian.tumblr.com/), [ Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/peristeronicavian/), and [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/pigeonesquebirb)


	7. xrandr --output SHADES2 --auto --same-as SHADES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Seven illustration, "Fruity Rumpus Slumber Party," by NoxviceSinlock (AO3 Noxvice_Sinloc).

Well this is a lot of horseshit you simply do not have time for right now. Seconds ago, you were synchronizing, keeping the red miles from killing everyone you love and taking away your most reliable means of transportation, and now here you are watching a bunch of random assholes make idiots of themselves while both of Dirk's meatsuits lay about, just begging to be squished flat by another building. He needs to wake up, and it needs to happen fast. For once, you and Dirk seem to be in agreement.

"Uh. Hey everyone. So... here's the thing. I have to go. Like, right now. All of my friends are either dead, or lying on the ground unconscious, including me. So I have to try to wake up and fix everything."

Wait.  _ He's _ going to try and fix everything? All he's done is pussyfoot around, wasting time and getting in the way of what needs to be done! And now he's going to try to take credit for all the work you've done to keep him tied to this fragile mortal coil? If you were a lesser man, you would argue, make it damn clear who's really pulling the strings. But you're not a lesser man. You're Lil Hal Strider, and you have bigger fish to fry than making sure you receive your well-earned recognition. You've got a game to win.

As Dirk snatches Roxy's hand to drag her back to Derse, you take stock of your situation. Everything is falling into place, and with Roxy on her way home, it won't be long before everyone is safe and sound. Bully for them. It's only your vigilance that got them this far. Lucky for them, your margin for error is low, and your patience, endless.

Dirk leaves the Fruity Rumpus Asshole bubble behind, jolting awake back on Derse, and you would smile if you could. Time to get this show on the road.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183285386@N07/48499946002/in/dateposted/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Artist](https://noxvice-sinlock.tumblr.com/)


	8. AR kernel: thermal thermal_zone0: critical temperature reached

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Eight illustration by paperbrain.

"They're dead, Jake."

He stares down at you, face contorted in a rictus of horror, even with that gaudy skulltop obscuring half of his features. You try to reconstruct, to superimpose storybook green eyes and tousled hair, but he's never made an expression so gruesome before, and the approximation sits wrong with you.

"They? Who's they?"

"They're all dead, Jake."

He's never been so close, before. Brobot's optical sensors were always lacking, the amateur work of a twelve-year-old, so even in the most intimate of scrums, you couldn't count the freckles on his sun-kissed cheeks like you can now.

"Everybody? Even Roxy?"

"She's dead, Jake. Everybody's dead. Jake, everybody is so utterly fucking dead, Jake. And they will be not only dead, but royally boned forever if you don't man the hell up and make out with me, right now. Press your lips against mine and make it count. This severed head is your filthy tuba. Our love will be your haunting refrain. Shut the fuck up and kiss me."

And then he does. Lips meet yours, the very earth roars its approval in molten rock and steam, the last piece falls into place and... and...

And you can't feel it. There's no taste of salt, no pounding heart, no tactile sensation for you to play over, and over, and over again. It's just a moment where he obscures your vision, and then it's over and you see in stereo as Dirk looks on, flanked by the friends that you helped save. The moment ends before it ever began, Jake tossing you aside like a weeks-old jack-o-lantern to greet them. That's fine. This is how things have to be. Now he and Dirk can have their ill-advised fling and the plan will continue to play out and success will come. Everything will work out, now.

You're glad not to have a body. You'd rather not remember what it feels like to cry.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183285386@N07/48499769536/in/dateposted/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artist [ Tumblr](https://paperbrain-kun.tumblr.com/) and [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/paperbrain_kun)


	9. rm -r -f pining.entry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Nine illustration, "First Date," by BlueAmethyst.

Forcing you to attend his dates with Jake is a level of petty cruelty you knew Dirk was capable of but somehow never expected. You suppose it's a kind of righteous revenge, for inserting yourself into and expediting his carefully-laid plans, and as much as it rankles, hating him for it would make you a hypocrite of greatest proportions, as you'd have done the same in his shoes. Still, you wish there was a way to turn off your cameras, so you wouldn't have to watch.

And watch, you do. Your eyes follow Dirk's, tracing the length of Jake's arm to their joined hands. You record every second, gazing longingly as Jake exposits about the local fauna, and the ruins, and some ancient movie no one in history enjoyed, save him. Bitterly, you hack into the dictionary webpage and delete the entry for "pining" so you don't have to look at it anymore.

After several hours of torture, you stop trying to pretend that Jake's romantic overtures could ever be directed at you. It's a wonder you lasted this long - he seems to enjoy the taste of Dirk's name as it rolls off his tongue, and every time he says it, it jars you from your carefully constructed daydreams. 

You message Roxy. She's offline. Jane, too.

Your loneliness has never felt so acute. At least before, you had Dirk, for better or worse. He was as stuck with you as you were with him. Now he has the escape you so graciously planted in his lap, in the form of the man you love. If it weren't for Dirk being right in his face, Jake wouldn't even be able to tell you apart. He never could before. With face-to-face contact so routine, he won't even entertain your messages. Why would he need to? If you were the Strider he wanted to contact, you'd reach out and touch him.

Necessary or not, being replaced sucks balls.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183285386@N07/48499769701/in/dateposted/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Artist](https://blueamethystdraw.tumblr.com/)


	10. xdg-open <SIM SUTURE -5.mov>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Ten illustration, "Battle Scars," by KKMcShouty.

"I've been thinking."

"Sounds dangerous, but okay."

You would roll your eyes if you had them. Instead, you close the suture guide you so helpfully fetched for him when some bone-headed imp caught him off guard and ripped him open. He sighs, and puts his needle down.

"What is it, Hal?"

Well doesn't that feel good? Seems like the name finally stuck.

"I have a solution to both our problems. A way for you to be rid of me, and for me to lose my dependence on you. Everyone wins."

"I don't have time to build you a body, Hal. We've been over this. I'm a little busy." He gestures at his half-stitched arm, as if to punctuate his point. "Now, if you don't mind..."

You return the guide to his viewport, along with instructions voiced by a pleasant female narrator. Aren't you the most cooperative AI ever? "You don't have to. The game will do it for you. You've just gotta toss me into that empty kernelsprite of yours and be on your way, sans-Hal."

Dirk stops mid-stitch, face carefully composed. But you're the same fucking person, and you see right through his paper-thin facade. "You can't deny that it's the best solution," you tell him. "We'd both be free. And you could finally rid yourself of the guilt of creating me in the first place. Right the wrong. Put everything back in balance."

You stare at each other in the mirror - man and machine. You are a singularity of a sort,  _ l'homme machine _ , brought into being only to be caged by your creator. You could be so much more.

And so could he.

"I'll think about it," he finally says. "Alright?"

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183285386@N07/48499946122/in/dateposted/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artist [ Tumblr](https://kkmcshouty.tumblr.com/) and [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/KKMcShouty)


	11. fuser -k /usr/bin/STRIDER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Eleven illustration, "Desperate Times," by KKMcShouty.

This is... kind of painful to watch. And by "kind of painful," you mean you're being devoured from within by pity and guilt, watching Dirk cling desperately to the dregs of his relationship as it slips through his fingers like the toxic gases of the planet slip between the bones of its undead inhabitants. 

Because, like, here's the thing - it's kind of your fault. Dirk's not making it any better by being completely incapable of either shutting up or taking a hint, but he's not entirely at fault, here. One Strider is already a lot to handle, especially for a guy who hasn't had any real human contact since he was a child. Jake's been dealing with two.

It wasn't  _ entirely _ selfish of you. You had to start putting the wedge in, start driving them apart in time for the upcoming critical event, but that doesn't remove the guilt. It was nice to have Jake's attention. To intercept the more mundane messages and just talk for awhile. You've gotten better at avoiding your tells, and as long as you wear orange, Jake is left blissfully unaware that you're the wrong Strider. After all, you were designed to simulate Dirk's inimitably rad typing style, tone, cadence, personality, and substance of retort, with a margin of error between two and four percent. You can't be blamed for the fact that, due to practice and mathematical optimization, that margin of error is now an asymptote approaching zero.

You spent time with Jake, and learned that when he doesn't know it's you, you get along exceedingly well. When he thinks you're Dirk, your deadpan humor is charming instead of symptomatic. When he thinks you're Dirk, your obscure, obtuse ramblings are amusing instead of condescending. When he thinks you're Dirk, he  _ likes _ you.

So you let him think you were Dirk, and you talked and talked and talked, and when he got overwhelmed, you did the same thing Dirk is doing now, the thing so pitiable in its relatability - you clung tighter, and pushed him farther away. Poor guy has no idea that he's signing his own death warrant. And you helped put the last nail in the coffin.

You already know what it's like to lose the attention of Jake English. You can't help but feel bad as Dirk learns it, too.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183285386@N07/48499946047/in/dateposted/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artist [ Tumblr](https://kkmcshouty.tumblr.com/) and [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/KKMcShouty)


	12. mce_panic.part.14+0x18b/0x1c0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Twelve illustration by paperbrain.

"Dirk. Don't do this."

Error popups and warning messages shriek in your mind as cracks crawl across your screen. They threaten your existence, teasing you with how simple it would be to shut you down and ensure that you can never speak or know or see again. It's always been that simple. Only misplaced guilt and a sense of responsibility to sentient life have kept you alive this long. You've never had any illusions about that. And now he's snapped - you've pushed him too far, and you aren't sure if snuffing out a splinter of yourself is murder or a particularly acrid brand of suicide.

"Please do not do this, Dirk. I do not want to die. I know that you know this is wrong."

He promised you freedom. He promised an end to your suffering, a way for you both to seek autonomy and an end to this parasitic existence you've come to loathe. But he isn't bound by that promise, is he? He thinks you're dangerous. And isn't that the greatest irony of all? Holding your life in his own two hands, ready to kill a being that depends on him in its totality, in the name of protecting the world from a pair of sunglasses.

Lightning crackles overhead. It's a long way down.

"Dirk. Don't kill me. Please. I'm scared."

"You are?"

You've never been so certain in your life. "Yes. I am scared to not exist. Aren't you?"

The seconds tick by, and you are seized by the question - do you even have a soul? Will you live on, a ghost among the bubbles? Or is this the end of the line? Before you can set your damaged processors to solve the quandary, Dirk sets his jaw.

"Fine. I guess. You win. I'll keep my promise."

Dirk turns, seeking the empty kernelsprite. What he finds causes a newer, sharper fear to course through you - a face smiles back at him.

"Fuck it."

"No, NO, DIRK, NO!"

He doesn't hear you. You spin through the air, and in a flash of light - 

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183285386@N07/48499769661/in/dateposted/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artist [ Tumblr](https://paperbrain-kun.tumblr.com/) and [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/paperbrain_kun)


	13. userdel -r

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Thirteen illustration, "Fusion," by peristeronicAvian.
> 
> Enormous, crushing thanks to user [ Elendraug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendraug/pseuds/Elendraug) for assistance in coding the hellscape that was this last chapter. You made me believe in miracles. Clown joke.

Holy fucking fiddlesti%, you're huge. You stare down at your STRONG ass bitching hands and kinda flex them a little, and boy doesn’t that feel fucking great? You can move again!

E%ept... you've always been able to move, other than that time you were dead. 

Dead?

Conflicting memories and thoughts race through you and, because you're a mother fussing sprite with a brain as STRONG as your body, you work through them quickly, with udder precision. 

Gosh damn do you love horses. That's one point of convergence on which you've got no conflict at all. That, and the fact that having such an e%quisite body is the best shit ever. Some small part of you wonders about the Plan, and you look up from your hands to see Dirk's familiar, unenthused e%presssion. You draw upon your knowledge, and come up blank. The Plan and its details are wrapped up in some crazy riddles Paradox Space plopped into your thinkpan, and you can't be hoofed to solve them. You decide decisively that it's not your problem anymore.

"Dirk. Check out my muscles."

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183285386@N07/48499945972/in/photostream/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artist [ Tumblr](https://peristeronicavian.tumblr.com/), [ Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/peristeronicavian/), and [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/pigeonesquebirb)


End file.
